Crimson
by thatfilmgirl
Summary: Dean goes on one of his hardest jobs yet.


**Title**:  
**Rating**: PG-13 For some angst and abuse (not to our boys. Not one of those fics)  
**Show**: Supernatural  
**Summary**: Dean goes on one of his hardest jobs yet.  
**Disclaimer**: Chase and Nina belong to me as per usual. Sadly, no Sam or Dean for me. Oh, and John either.  
**A/N**: Events explained from Rain. Who is that little girl Chase that Sam is scowling over. Dean is 16.

* * *

It was the hardest thing he ever had to do. The things he had to do before… exorcisms were at the top of his most hated list. He hated seeing people in pain and the last time-

That little boy looked so much like Sammy.

Dean struggled to swallow. His mouth felt like sandpaper. He thought exorcisms were bad. The suffering the possessed went through and here two parents were allowing their cult to kill their daughter for some demonic god. It was disgusting.

He refused to think of her name. If he acknowledged it and she died, Dean wouldn't be able to deal with himself. That innocent little girl would have a name that the darkness would use to taunt him.

"In the name of the Morrigan, goddess of all that is powerful, we offer the blood of the innocent," the group below intoned as one.The clearing was relatively large, long shadows cast by the flickering bonfire in the middle. The altar was decorated with skulls of animals, blood still smeared on some of them and that's where the little girl lay. Rope bound her wrists and ankles and in her white dress and the flickering firelight, she looked like a discarded doll. If he squinted hard enough, he could see where her dress had been torn away by slashes of the knife and the fabric had been ripped away from her stomach where the priest had just finished cutting something into her. The little girl's head moved every once in awhile, slow and jerky. The fact that she made no sound pissed him off more than the cutting.

Dean could all but keep himself from throwing up.

Dean shifted slightly from his perch behind a large boulder, his dad doing the same thing next to him. "Why isn't she doing anything?" he whispered, disturbed beyond belief at what he was witnessing.

"They've got her drugged," his father muttered next to him. Dean envied his ability to emotionally detach himself from situations like this. Sammy figured it was a military thing. Sammy was usually right about stuff like that.

"SWATs on their way," Nina's voice cracked over the earpiece. Dean felt for her. This was her niece being cut upon and she had to stay behind with Sammy.

Red had started seeping into her white dress as the knife slid slowly across her stomach like a caress and Dean swallowed again. "They're not gonna get here in time, Dad," he stated. The priest began chanting and raised his wicked knife, the bloody blade glinting in the firelight. Before his father could say anything, Dean straightened, aimed his shotgun, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the priest in the shoulder, sending him to the ground.

"Nice one." His father said dryly as all in the clearing spun to look at them. "Got a plan B, son?"

"Actually, I was hoping you did." Dean replied, cocking the gun once more.

The sound of the helicopter approaching startled everyone present and Dean took advantage of the distraction of the Black Hawk swooping towards them and the general panic as SWAT stormed the clearing to run to the altar where the girl lay. Dean's breath hitched in his throat at what he saw. She lay on the stone table with her wrists bound and bleeding from where the binding had cut into the skin. She made a small sound, her large brown eyes blinking slowly. "Hey… I'm Dean. Here to rescue you," he told the girl but she made no acknowledgement that she had heard him.

Swallowing tightly, Dean grabbed the knife strapped to his leg and began sawing at the ropes on her wrists and ankles. There was so much blood. His hands were sticky with it. Tossing the rope away, Dean looked at her in dismay. Her skin was too pale, and she was starting to shiver. Pulling his jacket off, he set it aside and stripped his t-shirt off; ripping it into strips to staunch the flow of blood on her arms. It helped a little but the cut on her stomach needed to be dealt with soon. "It's gonna be okay," he said, more for his own benefit than hers. Wrapping her up in his jacket, Dean cradled the drowsy girl in his arms and ducked his way back to the Impala. She wasn't going to die. No, he wouldn't let her.


End file.
